


sell your soul, not your whole self

by kccarey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Potter Has a Twin, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Harry has serious issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, James Potter Lives, Kinda, Morally Grey Harry Potter, No Bashing, Orphanage, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slytherin Harry Potter, but lily is still dead, if there is it’s only a teeny bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25925497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kccarey/pseuds/kccarey
Summary: A different Harry Potter is introduced to the Wizarding World. A world where his dad isn’t dead, he has a famous twin brother and ’it was for the greater good‘ is apparently a reasonable response.If it wasn’t so bloody depressing he’d be laughing.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

There are people who would happily cut out their own tongue to worship at the feet of the divine. Carve into flesh, rot impurity to the bone for the sake of righteousness. Under the eyes of rusting statues and smeared paintings they cower and they grovel.

 _For love_ , they cry. _For hate_. Muttered prayers and hallelujah’s sung proudly. They hold their stones and their rocks, they toss them from palm to palm. _Can you see me?_ As they throw. _Do you see the holy water upon my brow?_

And the children weep. And the adults weep. Tears of the believers perhaps. _Do the sinners cry?_ Eyes wide and faithful. _If they do, the streaks run red._ Replies the father. The father with his nice smile. And his nice eyes. And his wandering hands. 

There are people who preach their voice raw. Walk for miles till feet bleed and knees buckle and they search the damning deserts and the empty streets. Incense cloying and candles dripping hot. Tear through false forms, only the pure walk free. 

_Look for the Lord,_ they shriek. _Search for Him._ Take your unconditional love and justify your undying hate. Under benevolent gazes and on creaking pews. Black and blue for faith. Starvation for belief. Let your angels pass judgement on what you’ve done.

There are people who run dry with their tears of crimson. Who scream when the verse is read and beg for their own salvation. Then cry no more; for even the Lord has turned away from them.

  
**_____________**  
  


St Mary’s Orphanage was a proud and devout place. Beautiful in a distant way. Marble statues of saintly figures guarding the entrance and paintings of divinity decorating the halls. Renowned for its sparse collection of nuns and the odd priest roaming the halls and its admirable policy of taking in any kind of child. No matter how distasteful their story.

Harry loathed it.

Hated the place in a way that made his blood move and his wrists itch.

’Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers over all wrongs.’ Says the nun. Says the nun with the pretty smile. Says the nun with the pretty smile and the wax dripping on Harry’s knuckles.

The portraits were imposing, paint smears of righteous fury and nothing more. Not even accurate logically. ’Jesus wouldn’t have been pale with blue eyes.‘ He says. No food for three days, the Sisters reply.

Dull is the status quo indefinitely. Ordinary is the new black. Something burning hot twists in his stomach. A sneer always finds it way onto his face. ’Ordinary‘ Harry finds, is a word he doesn’t like at all.

Hymns are sung. Children kneel obediently. Bruises decorate more than their knees and everybody utter prayers like someone will actually listen. _Take me away,_ they chant. _I don’t believe in any God,_ they whisper.

Harry sets a bible on fire. There are no matches, no lighter either. Something hums deep and wonderful within. His hair stands on end. _This is where it starts_ , mutters the stars. 

Harry is nine and exorcisms are tricky things. Really, they should of gone out of style years ago but priests have always been dodgy creatures.

It begins like this.

Harry is the smallest in his year. Sharp features and a sharper tongue. Children are always going to be cruel. Orphans are never an exception. 

And it ends like this.

Harry is the freakiest in the Orphanage. Cutting words and strange powers. The other boys kill a small garden snake. They never beat up Harry again.

 _Devil Child_ is what the nuns start to say. They’re all so worried it’s sickeningly funny. It’s so dreadful, they gossip, Harry was something like an angel of a child. 

_Don’t worry_ , the priest with the clear eyes says, _God will save you._

Harry is nine and he hates God with all his heart. And there are moments when he thinks there must be something terribly wrong. For there to be so much rage bubbling underneath. Moments when his eyes blur and the taste of holy water lies fresh on his tongue and Harry feels something must be rotting. Alongside his blood, beside his ribs, behind his heart. There is something rotting. They were just small moments, but moments nonetheless.

Harry turns ten years old. He doesn’t grow a single inch, the other children sing Ave Maria for his birthday and one of the nicer Sisters gives him a worn out bible.

The Book of Revelations slips off his tongue by memory and he made Chris Brooker fall down the stairs from the other side of the hallway. Harry spends more nights hungry and cold in the attic than in his own room with only Saint Peter for company.

He spits psalms like poison and swallows scriptures like razors across his throat. Father Matthew’s smile plays behind his eyelids and there are times when the thought of food makes him retch until blood stains the floors.

Harry can’t shake the feeling of anticipation that resides in him for the whole year. Every muscle sits tense and coiled as if poised to fly. 

And so, July 31st comes to play out and Harry turns eleven. Sparks dance underneath his skin and if Harry was able to read the world he would have seen the way the clouds seemed to shift as if to watch it all come crashing down.


	2. Chapter 2

Minerva had heard many tragedies- too many if you looked hard enough. Tragedy and war had always walked hand in hand. And at her seventy and something years old she’d been through enough war to provide a bone deep ache.

But this one, this was tricky, if she dare think so. The twin brother of Daniel Potter, the Boy Who Lived sent to live in the muggle world. It brought a sense of oddity and uneasiness that Minerva promised she wouldn’t ignore. 

She walked briskly, head held high even as her odd muggle clothes hung awkwardly and her lips stayed tilted downward. Minerva Mcgonagall resisted the urge to apparate back to Hogsmeade and order a bottle of anything strong. She has just finished meeting with the Dursley’s and the bitter taste in the back of her throat wasn’t the shoddy tea she’d drank.

A Potter in an Orphanage! A staunchly religious one at that. Oh, how she wanted nothing more than to give her former Potter pupil a stern dressing down.

Only the rhythmic clicking of her formal shoes managed to organise her thoughts as she studied the building before her. Pristine marble with no hints of grime or ruin in sight, the huge lettering proclaiming the name of the Orphanage was gold and glinted bright in the sunlight. Gaudy gates swung silently as Minerva entered and she prayed under her breath that the poor other Potter had been taken care of.

As she made her way into the building, a lady dressed in all black with a white headdress approached with a warm smile and twinkling eyes. 

”Welcome to St Mary’s Orphanage. What’s your purpose here today?“ Said the lady. She spoke with a high voice, one used to singing.

Instead of answering right away, Minerva withdrew a thin piece of blank paper from her sleeves. A mild compulsion was woven into it and she gave it to the woman before her with a quirk of her lips.

”I’m looking for a Mr Potter. He has a place at my school.“ 

A dreamy quality overcame the lady’s face as she looked at the slip of paper. Her eyes glazed over and an odd smile graced her lips.

”Yes, of course. Let me take you to him.“ The lady stated as she began to lead Minerva upstairs with bouncing steps.

”Would you tell me anything about Mr Potter?“Minerva asked, a tad cautious as she cast a glance up at the winding staircase.

At the query, the lady gave an odd twitch as her left hand jerked slightly and thin eyebrows furrowed. But her dream-like state was soon reinstated as she opened her mouth to answer.

”Harry’s such a smart boy, he’s always trying hardest in his classes. But he can be so very quiet- he’s always been a quiet one really. We got dumped here when he was three, you see, but I’ve only been here for two years. He doesn’t have a lot of friends. I think- well, i think-“

She cut herself off abruptly and looked startlingly uneasy for a second. Raising an eyebrow, Minerva felt the start of a dull throb behind her eyes as she eyed the lady beside her.

”What do you think?“

”I think the other children are scared of him,“ The short woman admitted, almost whispered despite the compulsion on her. ”It’s not that Harry’s a bully. No, no, well- I always got the impression he got bullied himself. But, they all really avoid him. And there’s always been those rumours from the other nuns. About strange things- devil behaviour. Things bursting into flames, objects changing colour. And there was the incident with that boy. Chris.“

She stopped again and her dark eyes darted around as if someone was listening in. Her dark feature seemed almost contorted in her stuttering explanation and Minerva felt her stomach clench almost painfully. 

”What incident?“ Minerva asked, just as quiet as the other woman. Like if she said it quiet enough what she’d hear next wouldn’t be real.

The woman swallowed once before answering again. ”I wasn’t here when it happened but it was all the other nuns could talk about for months. They even got the Father in- I mean gosh, Harry must have- the Father must have. What happened is, Chris always used to bully little Harry. Only harmless teasing, you know? Chris was always such a good boy, always used to recite the Our Father perfectly. But one day him and Harry were alone up at the top near here. And Harry swears he didn’t see what happened, and there was no way Harry was near him. But-“

She bit her lip and swallowed again,”But Chris didn’t just slip, y’know? He broke his back falling down all these stairs. Never going to be able to walk again. Lucky to be alive, he was.“

She fell silent and dropped her gaze to the floor. They were nearing the top of the stairs and Minerva felt cold. She desperately wanted to forget everything the woman had just told her about Lily and James’ son. Feelings and thoughts clashed chaotically. They walked silently to the second door on the right side of the hallway and their footsteps seemed to echo ominously.

The still tapestry of an intense man with bright light surrounding him seemed to stare right through her. The woman knocked twice on the door then opened it with a draw out creak.

”Harry there’s a lady here from a school you have a place in.“ Uttered the lady as she stood blocking Minerva’s view. She backed away and then left Minerva without a backwards glance. Almost as if she was fleeing.

Minerva turned her gaze to the boy sitting on the bed and nearly froze.

Harry Potter was small, incredibly small. With wild black hair that came with fond thoughts of a younger James and black glasses there was no doubt that this was the youngest Potter. His wide green eyes seemed to bore into her and the dark bags under them did nothing to lessen the stare. His skin was the same pale shade as Lily’s -unhealthily pale, her mind helpfully added. But the high cheekbones and sharp features were all Black. James’ mother was a Black, she reminded herself sharply as her thoughts trailed to another small, dark haired boy. 

His skin seemed to stretch over bones tightly as if he was more skeleton than anything else and he all but drowned in the clothes he wore. Minerva noted that he had an angelic face, a face that would soon be popular with the masses like James and Black had proved.

Clearing her throat lowly, she attempted a reassuring smile and tried to imagine the boy was simply another muggleborn.

”Mr Potter, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Professor McGonagall and I’ve come to tell you of your place in my school.“ She spoke briskly and thanked Merlin her voice hadn’t wavered.

Merlin help her, she couldn’t tell what the boy was thinking. His face was blank and only the narrowing of his eyes told her he had heard what she said. She dreaded to tell the poor boy about everything. About his parents, his brother. But even known she couldn’t help but draw comparisons between Harry and Daniel.

She had been around Daniel only a small number of times. With James insisting that his son meet his favourite teacher. And on those occasions Daniel had always been full of life. Practically bouncing off the walls. Mischief seemed to follow him and he was spoilt in the way that every rich heir was, without his fame added on. With his dark red hair and hazel eyes he seemed to be the exact opposite to the boy sitting in front of her.

”What kind of school?“ Asked Harry abruptly, then as if he were reluctant he added, ”Professor.“

Waiting a few seconds to gather her answer, Minerva surveyed the tense boy in front of her and replied. ”Mr Potter, have you ever had strange things happen to you? Perhaps you’ve moved something without touching it or something has happened when you feel something rather strong. I am here to tell you, that what you’ve been doing, is in fact, magic. You, Mr Potter, are a wizard.“

**____________  
**

_Magic. Magic. Magic._

The urge to smile hysterically until his cheeks bled was intense. Magic. He clenched his fist tightly and felt his nails dig harshly into his skin. Magic. Harry had known. Had felt that he was something more. Something special.

His teeth bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting. Searching the woman before him, he sat forward. Unable to quench the sudden aching hunger that rose in him as he stared into the Professors grey eyes.

”Can you prove it all? Professor?“ His voice sounded off even to his ears. Lilting and odd. Harry couldn’t find it in himself to care. This was proof. That he wasn’t possessed or demented. That the nuns and the priest could take their holy water and burn their eyes with it.

The stern looking Professor looked almost off guard for a second before professionalism won out and she whipped out a short stick. A wand, Harry’s mind corrected. His eyes fixated on the thin wood with such a strong craving he nearly leaped to his feet.

McGonagall flicked her wand sharply and whispered a sort of latin phrase, the sort of words that reminded Harry of the smell of damp floors and scalding wax, and the rickety desk in the corner of his cramped room started to steadily rise.

Jumping to his feet, a burst of raw happiness and want covered his face. His arm reached out as if to touch the magic lifting the desk. 

”Holy shit,“ Harry whispered, silent and almost cockney sounding he listed every single swear word he knew in his head.

With a loud clang the desk was dropped back onto the floor and Harry snatched his arm back just as fast as if bitten.

Sitting back down on the corner of his bed, he balled his hands up in his lap and turned back to the woman.

A thin smile played on her lips as she stared back at him. She seemed to be searching his face for something meaningful and Harry fought the urge to snarl at her.

”The school is called Hogwarts. And it is a school of magic. There you will be taught how to control your magic and use it well. The lessons are varied, I teach Transfiguration. You will study for seven years with two major exams in years five and seven.“

She stopped for a second then peered into Harry’s eyes sternly, ”Bad behaviour is unacceptable at Hogwarts. Bullying, violence, lying and stealing is punished severely.“

Biting back the reflexive sneer on his lips, Harry nodded his head calmly in answer. He wondered which nun had expressed their woes on his fucking satan like tendencies. He then pondered over whether Hogwarts severe punishment included the corporeal kind and once again fought the urge to bare his teeth.

”And now, we must regretfully move onto a hard topic.“ The professor spoke quieter as if to soften what she was about to say.

He rolled his shoulders then loudly cracked his neck as he tried to loosen his tense posture. Attempting to quickly decipher what she meant so he could guard his response, he could feel his throat flexing obviously.

Harry nodded once jerkily and tilted his head to the side to listen attentively.

**____________  
**

The words spilt out of Minerva’s mouth like sandpaper. It felt unnervingly like a confession though she had no part in his family’s affairs. She kept her eyes trained on the bland wallpaper behind him, she didn’t dare look at the young boys face though it made her inner voice scream coward.

Idly tracing the marks and patterns on the wall, she brought down the boys whole life in a shortened explanation. Minerva found herself desperately scrambling to adequately describe the horrors of the Wizarding War and all that You-Know-Who brought to Britain and how his twin brother effectively became the saviour.

Finally drawing to the end, Minerva found her throat dry and her voice rasping. Bringing her eyes back to Harry Potter, she almost cringed back despite her renowned composure. Potters gaunt face flashed feral for a second as he soaked in her words. Pale lips pulled back savagely. He seemed to have transformed. Bruised eyes seemed darker as his bright eyes looked lost somewhere beside her head.

A trembling hand reached up to brush dark hair back drawing attention to reddened knuckles and bony fingers. Flashes of something raw slipped off his face like water, he looked like an animal cornered, chained up and left alone, skeletal and spiteful and backed against a wall.

”So my brothers like fuckin’ Jesus,“ Harry spat, muffled and hysterical. He sounded strange. Cockney and foul and bitter. Like he could choke on the very taste of his words.

”Language.“ Minerva blurted out. More for composures sake than anything. She sounded more hesitant than reprimanding.

Harry’s face twitched, hunched shoulders with protruding collar bones. Discoloured hands smoothed down unruly hair. Wiped down his thin face. Minerva absentmindedly noticed a small, ugly purpling bruise on the corner of his cheekbone.

”My apologies.“ He spoke, no accent and snarling. His face flashed, dark and worrying.

He doesn’t look eleven, thought Minerva. Jaw stiff and face pinched she watched Harry Potter, he doesn’t look eleven at all.

He licked his chapped lips and seemed to struggle to get his warring emotions under control. Green eyes -Lily’s eyes- pointedly stuck to the floor. His mouth opened repeatedly but each time his voice seemed to fail him.

”So, my fathers alive?“ The youngest Potter finally asked. His voice was broken but his face stayed impossibly still.

Minerva nodded once. She didn’t attempt to speak.

”He abandoned me then?“ A sharp smile tugged at his lips, ”An Orphanage seems sort of cliche though, doesn’t it?“

Minerva blinked twice.

”Mr Potter, originally you were placed with your mothers muggle relatives. Your father believed it would be for the best, your brother is widely known in our world and he believed that the type of spotlight on the family could be potentially dangerous for you. He only had your best interests at heart.“

Harry blinked once in return. Another pointed smile tore at his lips. His thin hands were clasped together oddly in front of him, as if ready to start praying.

”Best interests at heart.“ He spoke the words softly, sounding out each syllable purposely. The words rolled off his tongue jaggedly.

The sound made something hot rise up in Minerva and she opened her mouth abruptly to say anything in return to stifle the uncomfortable feeling she had.

But before any futile argument could be made, a small change washed over Potter. Thin shoulders rolled sharply and loosely held hands came to rest by his side. He tilted his head to the side, and smiled, all gentle movements. ”What’s a muggle, Professor?“ 

”A name for non-magicals.“ She replied after a lengthy pause.

Potter’s face flickered ever so slightly, eyes coming to rest on Minerva for what was most likely only the second time this evening.

”How demeaning.“ He stated flatly.

Minerva thought she heard a mocking ring to his words, but she dismissed it easily.

Clearing her throat once, Minerva met his gaze. ”Your father and your brother will want to meet you, Mr Potter. Today, I accompany you to Diagon Alley, where you will purchase your school items. And tomorrow,“ She stopped to peer over her thin glasses at his taunt frame,” Tomorrow your father will wish to bring you himself.“

Harry mechanically smoothed his hair down and stared back at her. He didn’t smile in response to her expectant gaze but only nodded once.

Straightening her posture, Minerva nodded to herself twice. She twitched her hand in a single, jerky movement. Potter rose from where he sat with fluid movements and an eyebrow twitch. 

”Now, we’re off to Diagon Alley.“

Minerva’s smile was as stiff as she allowed it and she forced her eyes to soften. Potter didn’t smile back but followed closely with controlled steps.

 _This_ , she thought to herself harshly, _was going to be an unusual introduction._


	3. Chapter 3

The Leaky Cauldron was grimy and disappointing.

Entrances to magical worlds, it seemed, didn’t give much care to appearances. The outside was seedy- and had the Professor not given Harry a demonstration of magic, he would of figured she was taking him somewhere darker in nature.

The inside was filled to the brim with crowds of men and women draped head to toe in flowing fabrics and old fashioned clothing. Harry stuck out unpleasantly and his fingers spasmed twice as he caught two men sneering at him, or more specifically his outfit.

Harry was more than used to the disdain that came with being of the poorer end of London. With his frayed uniform and his orphan status (which can’t be claimed anymore, a snide voice helpfully added), usually paired with the occasional lapse in his fake ’posher’ accent, the occasional sneer was common place.

But that was the muggle world, he thought viciously. Things were going to be different with magic. Harry would make sure of it.

Lapsing slightly behind McGonagall, Harry had to forcefully snuff the urge to either snarl at the people veering too close for comfort or hunch over defensively. 

McGonagall continued to send various kinds of looks out of the corner of her eye when she thought Harry couldn’t see. Her attention put Harry on edge and his muscles were wound so tight that it burned.

They stopped at the bar and Harry kept a blank face even as he sneered inwardly at the dust coating the counter. 

An ordinary man with watery eyes and terrible posture stood cleaning glasses behind the counter. His face twisted into a warm smile as he caught sight of the two of them. Harry attempted a smile back even as his fist clenched reflexively at the appearance of a middle-aged man.

”Good Afternoon, Tom.“ Greeted McGonagall with a tight smile.

The newly christened Tom tipped his head in response and threw down his greying rag. ”Afternoon, Professor! Can I tempt you with your usual or is it simply business?“

Harry studied the Professor curiously as a light pink colour dusted her cheeks briefly. McGonagall simply raised a single eyebrow instead of giving a verbal reply and Tom gave a hearty chuckle before bustling away.

The two of them stood in a somewhat awkward silence. Harry dug the blunt edges of his nails into the wooden counter and scanned the faces in the pub. The behaviour of witches and wizards weren’t dissimilar to that of muggles, so Harry noted that he wouldn’t need to alter any key behaviour. Regular use of magic was thrown around ordinarily, for everyday activities.

Muggles, he found, seemed to be the ones looked down on. Harry had counted around five disgusted appraisals on his clothing. Even the Wizarding World, he thought, wasn’t safe from discrimination. His thoughts turned quickly to the heads of the Orphanage and the many other distasteful adults and he rapidly came to the conclusion that the muggle disliking could be considered something to stay indifferent to. 

Harry’s thoughts came to a screeching halt when a firm hand came to rest on his shoulder. He froze abruptly, his shoulders stiffened and his teeth flashed violently as his lip curled. Snapping his head up quickly with an audible crack to look toward McGonagall, Harry took dark pleasure in causing obvious discomfort on her face as she dropped her hand as if struck.

McGonagall soon recovered, though a hint of unease stayed present in her eyes. The Professor tightened her lip and gestured to a man next to her.

The man had dull brown eyes and a purple turban upon his head. His stance was loose but slightly hunched and his gaze was trained solely on Harry.

”This is Professor Quirrell, he teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Quirrell, this is Harry Potter, he’ll be a student of yours this year.“

McGonagall’s voice was curt and almost disdainful as she introduced the new Professor. But Harry ignored her and focused instead on Quirrell. 

Something about the man swirled toward Harry. His presence made his skin feel strangely cold and his veins warm. Harry rolled his wrist and ran his tongue over inflamed gums.

He gave a polite smile, with only a flash of teeth. It made his cheeks ache and his eyes widen. ”It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor.“

Quirell twisted his thin hands nervously. Though his eyes remained intense and intent on Harry’s face. ”It’s a p-pleasure as well, M-m-mr Potter. Though, I m-must s-say it was certainly a s-suprise t-to learn of a-another P-potter.“

Harry’s face didn’t betray anything, even as a fire burned low in his stomach. His felt like tearing up his flesh, there was an unrelenting itch lying underneath skin. He smiled pleasantly. Eyelashes bowed. Effortless.

”It was a surprise for me as well, Professor.“Harry responded smoothly. 

Beside him, McGonagall gave a fully body shudder and Harry would have been amused if he wasn’t so busy analysing Quirrell’s reaction.

An odd twitch there. An upturn of the lips here. The odd narrowing of the eyes. Professor Quirrell was quite contradictory. How interesting.

Before Harry could dissect some more and question Quirrell on his teaching. Another tap to the shoulder caused him to nearly lash out before he caught himself. Phasing the near flying hand into a reflexive stretch and the near feral flinch into a fluid turn, Harry turned his gaze onto McGonagall her again.

McGonagall gestured to Tom with a sharp flick of her head and strode away without a parting word. Harry swallowed harshly and nodded mildly to Quirrell before folllowing.

He walked quickly, a straight back that looked painful to keep. Unaware of the brown eyes still fixed to his small figure.

Harry stumbled twice as he caught up to McGonagall, his hands were balled at his side. They weaved way through the many bar stools and looming figures before coming to a stop in front of a nondescript brick wall outside.

McGonagall sent a significantly warmer smile his way. Harry bit the inside of his cheek to maintain a blank face even as his stomach rolled with anticipation.

The Professor withdrew her wand with a graceful flourish and tapped out a pattern on to the bricks. The wall slowly opened.

”Welcome to Diagon Alley,” McGonagall said with a quirk of her lips.

Harry’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He didn’t know where to look. Diagon Alley was beautifully chaotic. The people, the shops, the sights- it was all so strangely _magical_. 

Everything seemed to be splashed with colour, with an undertone of oddity. The shop signs were winding and moving. Conversations were even stranger. Harry loved it.

 _This was something he could get used to_ , he thought to himself dazedly. Cold anger washed over him for a second.It was a place he should’ve been used to. Instead of the sterile halls of the Orphanage. 

”Quite a sight, isn’t it?" said McGonagall, peering down with a look of fond nostalgia.

That snapped Harry out of it. He closed his mouth with a resounding click. He smiled prettily, chest numb.

”It’s divine,” he said. _Deo gratias,_ he mouthed, aching and ugly.

_Deo gratias!_

They walked on. Mechanical steps forward; one foot, another foot, make sure to smile, one foot, another foot, a glimpse of a crown of thorns.

McGonagall came to a halt in front of a huge marble building. It looked more like a cathedral than anything else. The white stone glinted harshly in the sun and it was guarded by snarling creatures that were about a head shorter than Harry himself. 

”This is Gringotts, where you’ll find your money. It’s run by goblins; mostly nasty creatures. There are many old families in Britain. The Potters are one of them,“ McGonagall made an aborted gesture to place her hand on his back as she strode into the bank. ”The Potters have a number of vaults- you will only be able to access one of them, your trust vault. When you turn eighteen, I suspect James will give you access to another vault, he should be able to explain it once you begin to meet him.“

Harry almost winced as his fathers name was mentioned. A complicated mix of emotions spiked up whenever he pondered too long on his very much alive parent. He instead focused on inspecting the blank walls of the bank.

They approached an empty counter, where a fierce-looking goblin sat inspecting a vivid coloured rock.

McGonagall pulled out a small, bronze key and set it down with a quiet clang. She pointedly coughed once and spoke sternly, ”Here to see Harry Potter’s vault, please."

The goblin hummed once- a noise they managed to make sound somewhat threatening and picked up the key with long fingers. They inspected the key intently for a few seconds before nodding sharply and handing it back, all without sparing a single look toward the them.

Harry didn’t look away from his intense examination of the blank wall. But he intercepted the key and smoothly tucked it into a frayed pocket before McGonagall could accept it. He decidedly ignored the disapproved frown sent his way and followed the goblin.

The cart rattled rustily with them in it and drove at a sickening speed. Harry’s bones seemed to rattle along with the cart and his fingernails nearly drew blood as he sat stiff. Acid climbed up his throat and his empty stomach seemed to turn upside down. The ride didn’t end soon enough and as Harry climbed out shakily he had to blink away spots of irritating colour.

Harry inhaled slowly and deeply, his skeletal chest expanding as he exhaled. Professor McGonagall was quiet as she watched him.

He approached the vault with even steps and put his key in the correct place to open the huge brass doors that swung open proudly.

Harry’s jaw dropped for the second time that day. His cheekbones seemed to move under sallow skin as he blinked twice. 

Piles and piles of glittering coins lay before him. Silver, gold and bronze twinkled mockingly, reflecting off his glasses. Harry only vaguely processed the words spoken by the goblin about money value; he was too busy calculating the starved and shivering days spent at St Mary’s. Days where his money sat here, _hidden away,_ as he lived poor and fucking praying.

The goblin - _Griphook-_ snapped his fingers and a small leather bag appeared in his gnarled hands. ”A money bag,“ he explained boredly. ”You can retrieve around 1,000 galleons a month from it. It has an Expansion Charm on it; you could fit something as large as a human head in it.“

Harry gave him a sharp smile as he took it. ”How useful."

Griphook gave a savage grin, filled with too many pointed teeth.

The three of them climbed back into the cart and Harry nearly gave into closing his eyes. He remained rigid, his spine painfully unbending and muscles as tightly coiled as a spring. 

When they clambered out at the end, Professor McGonagall studied him with a curled lip of disapproval and slight concern. Harry’s face had turned three shades paler and his eye bags stuck out like smudged black paint. The purple bruise high on his left cheek bone drew attention to the worrying hollow of his cheeks. He looked ill, like something out of of place and not right. A bad attempt at life being blown into a corpse.

Harry nodded to Griphooks on the way out and managed to successfully walk in a straight line. McGonagall continued to send him looks with pursed lips but Harry was certain she wouldn’t attempt conversation.

They made their way to a unremarkable looking shop that the gold lettering on the sign proclaimed as Madam Malkin’s.

”I’ll wait outside while you purchase robes.” Stated McGonagall.

Nodding in agreement, Harry pushed open the door and winced at the loud ringing of the bell above the entrance. He smiled politely at the blonde woman making her way over to him and widened his eyes slightly to give him the cute schoolboy look.

Harry could visibly see her welcoming smile grow a couple shades warmer. ”Hello and welcome to Madam Malkin’s. What can I do for you today, dear."

”Could I please have a set of new school robes.” He made sure to carefully talk with a better sounding voice -near enough to be called posh. ”And two pairs of everyday robes, just in black.”

The woman gestured grandly to a wooden stool in the corner of the shop. A ginger boy with a pink face occupied the one next to it.

Harry made his way over to the stool and hopped onto it silently. He turned his head to the side to examine the ginger thoroughly. Patchy robes, greying socks, awkward stance. Harry’s face stayed carefully blank while the other boy fumbled for a few seconds.

”You going Hogwarts this year?" The boy finally asked, his voice slightly hesitant.

Harry bit down his knee-jerk reaction to drawl out an _obviously_ and instead smiled gently. ”I am.“

The ginger grinned awkwardly and pushed back his bright hair with one hand, disrupting the floating measuring tape. ”I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.”

”Nice to meet you, I’m Harry." He only briefly considered adding his last name before dismissing it. He had to remember Daniel Potter’s ’fame.’

The magical measuring tape started floating round his body. Tying loops round his waist and hastily pressing down on an ugly bruise by his ribs. Harry felt strangely self conscious of the way the tape was wrapping tight round his narrow hips, but he harshly shoved the feeling away and refocused on Weasley’s babble.

”-probably gonna be in Gryffindor. What about you? What house do you think you’ll be put in?" The red head turned his expectant gaze on Harry.

Harry only blanked for a second before he gave an easy chuckle, ”Well, you never know.”

Ron Weasley laughed along with him. Harry made a mental note to purchase as many books possible about the wizarding world.

Weasley went to open his mouth again before he was interrupted by an adults voice, loud and ringing, ”Ron, you’re finished now. Come on, dear."

Another redhead. Short and plump, most definitely Ron’s mother. She marched nearer to where the two of them stood. A motherly smile fixed on her face, Harry very nearly recoiled from the love shining from her eyes.

The tips of Ron Weasley’s ears turned a burning red. He leant away from his mothers gaze and his eyes flickered to Harry and away. He’s embarrassed, Harry thought clinically. Public displays of affection from family members always seemed to embarrass people, internally he sneered.

”Oh! Who’s this here? I’m Molly, Ron’s mum." Weasley’s mother somehow smiled brighter. Harry dragged his eyes over her face and thought of wax dripping down knuckles, scorching, _holy._

He smiled. Wide and brittle. ”I’m Harry, ma’am. Lovely to meet you."

She seemed instantly charmed. Eyes glittering and teeth shining too bright. ”What a lovely young man! I wish my Ron was as polite as you.”

The younger Weasley groaned loudly and seemed to draw out a quiet ’muum' under his breath. Harry grated out a laugh. Loud and bitter tasting.

Before the two Weasley’s could make another attempt at conversation, the blonde lady from before slid into view. 

She handed Harry his clothes with a gentle smile and a wink, ”That’s you done, sweetheart.”

Harry hopped off his stool and flashed another smile to the two gingers, it felt elastic against his skin. ”I’ll see you at Hogwarts, Ron,” he have a small bow, ”Mrs Weasley.”

Closing the shop door behind him, Harry could taste metal on his tongue. He rolled his shoulders, fluid, confident. He closed his eyes briefly, thought of burning and marble floors.

 _Dominus vobiscum_ , he whispered under his breath. He tasted the words. They tasted like burning gums and consecrated bread. Harry laughed once, quiet and spiteful. _Dominus vobiscum._

**_________  
**

Harry found Professor McGonagall waiting stiffly on the corner of the pathway. She held a silver cage with one hand, a snowy white owl perched inside.

”Your father told me to buy you an owl,” McGonagall explained. ”His first present to you.”

He stiffened. An obvious type of ’I’m sorry I abandoned you for ten years’ gift. Pitiful, really. A bitter part of him wanted to refuse the owl just to spite James. But his awe at receiving a _real_ gift surpassed it.

A small smile made its way onto his face. His first real smile of the day, it softened his features considerably and made him look considerably less _sharp_. Harry reached a hand toward the owl and stroked her.

”Lilith.“ He said with a twisted upturn of his lips. From the legend of the First Woman. The newly christened owl chirped approvingly.

”Right then, we need to get your wand.” McGonagall began to move quickly.

Harry exhaled quietly. A burst of excitement shooting through him. This is what he’s been waiting for. The thing that truly solidified his status a wizard. _His own wand_ , Harry could barely hold his expressions together.

Ollivander’s was small, cramped and lined with dust. It smelt of old wood and strangely like blueberries. But the place felt like _power_. Walking in, Harry could almost feel a heavy weight set on his shoulders of something old and so very magical. It felt like holding his breath during a church service. The ends of thin boxes on winding shelves littered the walls and stretched on further than you’d expect from looking in. The only light source was a single stream of sunlight from a large window and it bathed the shop in an orange, eerie glow. Harry was certain it was done on purpose for the aesthetic of it all.

”Ahhhh yes,” someone breathed from behind them. “Mr Potter, the younger. I have been expecting your visit for a while.”

The crazy-looking old man who spoke had his milky eyes trained solely on Harry as he spoke. Harry shifted slightly on the balls of his feet and stubbornly maintained a blank face.

“Mr Potter, this is Mr Ollivander,” McGonagall interrupted the creepy staring contest between the two of them. “The best wand maker in England.”

Ollivander’s wide eyes didn’t even flicker to McGonagall even as he began to move forward. “The best wandmaker in Britain to be precise.”

The wandmaker started to take measurements, each in increasingly odd places. He babbled whilst doing so, about James Potter’s wand and his grandfather wand and his grandfather’s fathers wand. Harry only noted when he mentioned his mother’s wand -willow, swishy- something about the knowledge on his mother made him feel warm in ways that only left him slightly uncomfortable.

His attention was drawn to the shop itself. The power it emanated was intense and felt incredibly old. It made Harry’s head swim in the best way possible and his blood sing. _One day,_ he thought determinedly, _he was going to have this kind of power._

”Here!” Ollivander waved a long wand in front of his face, “Thirteen inches, cherry, unicorn hair.”

Harry grabbed it and feeling slightly off-kilter, waved it about. A vase cracked and Harry flinched at the noise.

”Definitely not. Yew and dragon heartstring, ten inches-“

As soon as Harry took it, Ollivander snatched it away with a _tsk._

On and on it went. Wand after wand was tried and promptly discarded, often after explosive results. A cracked window and shattered bowl only resulted in a blasé shrug from the wandmaker. Harry would have felt the underlying worry or slight embarrassment if it wasn’t for the excitement growing on Ollivander’s face and the indifference on McGonagall’s.

Abruptly, Ollivander twisted on the spot and disappeared into the back of the shop. Harry almost thought he had turned his back on a hopeless case but Ollivander’s voice floated back from the shadows.

”You’re a tricky one, Mr Potter. But not to worry, not to worry, the wand always chooses the wizard. Ah... now- i wonder... why not...could be it...”

Ollivander popped back out, holding a box in his wrinkled hands. He opened the box with a flourish and slid it over to Harry. There was a new glint to his eyes. “Eleven inches. Holly and phoenix tail feather.”

Harry examined the wand. Something inside him lurched. The wand felt curious and polished and Harry _craved._

He picked it up and already knew this was the one. Holding the wand in his hands felt like electricity. Like power and warmth and all things _sacred_.

Harry waved it in the air and silver sparks shot out like ribbons.

He could feel a grin ripping at his cheeks. Sharp-edged and unrestrained. Harry felt the calming sensation of rightness slotting into place.

 _Magic,_ his mind whispered, crooning and comforting. Oh, how he wished the priests could see him now.

When he looked up, Ollivander was studying him intently. An intelligent gleam shadowing his eyes. “Curious...” the man muttered, “how very curious.”

Harry raised an eyebrow in question. He didn’t fully trust that his voice wouldn’t come out hoarse and shaky.

Ollivander smiled. Shark-like and so incredibly ancient. “You see, Mr Potter, the thing so incredibly curious about this particular wand is the feather. The phoenix who gave it’s tail feather for your wand gave two others. One lies in your brother’s wand, the other...” The wandmakers gaze seemed to linger on Harry’s forehead where his scar lay hidden behind hair, “the other was in the Dark Lord’s.”

Professor McGonagall’s stifled gasp cut through the heavy silence that lingered. Harry felt his lightening bolt scar tingle almost in acknowledgement of the topic.

”It is curious, i believe,” the man continued,” that the twin brother of the boy who lived also shares a sibling bond with the wand of Lord Voldemort.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in contemplation, he ran a finger down his new wand possessively. “A sibling wand to the Dark Lord.”

“Yes, thirteen and a half inches, yew.” Ollivander regarded Harry with a strange expression upon his face. “I often wonder what the world would be like had i not given the Dark Lord his wand. He did great things with that wand, terrible things, but great.”

Harry swallowed drily. His skin felt awfully clammy and his heart seemed to beat rapidly. From fear or fascination, he didn’t know.

Ollivander eyed Harry’s wand with a considering look, “I believe great things are to be expected of you, Mr Potter.”

He looked down at his wand through lidded eyes. _Great things_. The words rang loudly through his head. Harry liked the sound of it.

Harry managed a mocking portrayal of a smile toward Ollivander. Before McGonagall coughed twice, ruining the stillness of the moment. Harry’s owl hooted loudly in her hands.

“Excellent! Let’s be on our way now.” A slight undercurrent of uneasiness tinged the Professor’s voice as she turned toward the door.

Fishing out a couple of galleons, Harry gave a polite nod and followed.

He absentmindedly noted that Ollivanders eyes didn’t leave him even as he closed the door on the way out.


End file.
